


Invictus

by schmevil



Series: How Deep, His Love For Us [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Backstory, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schmevil/pseuds/schmevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That wasn't the lie; she remembered being human. In better detail than she liked, really. The lie was everything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invictus

She remembered being human. It was unusual for a demon, but she was young, compared to the big boys. Plenty of demons younger than her couldn't remember past their first scream on the rack, but Ruby had always been different.

That wasn't the lie; she remembered being human. In better detail than she liked, really. The lie was everything else. Ruby had hated being human. She'd sold her soul for power and long life, then spent decades on the rack. Humans were fools - it was in their nature. God loves a fool, as the expression goes. Or 6.79 billion fools and counting.

She told them that she remembered being human, injected as much angst into it as she could manage without throwing up, and they bought it. Even Dean, who doubted her in every way possible, believed that she knew regret - believed it because he wanted to. Because demons were things that lived to spread pain and chaos, and he was in possession of an express ticket to the pit.

If bitchy, dangerous, not to be trusted - oh, never that - Ruby could remember being human, then maybe there was hope for poor, doomed Dean. That itty bitty kernel of truth, made it so easy for them to swallow the lie: that she knew regret; that she was different, in a way that might help, not hinder their ridiculous plans; that she was alone, like Sam was.

Dean was smart enough not to trust her, but fool enough that as many times as he threatened her, he never quite sealed the deal. Never killed her. Even when she'd been human, Ruby would never have made such an amateur mistake. All because of that faint possibility: regret. Retention of some minuscule fragment of her humanity.

 

"You made that knife," Sam said.

"Yahtzee." He frowned at that, the demon girl stealing Dean's line.

"When you were..." he trailed off, mentally flailing for words. Finally settled on the only one appropriate. "Human."

"Not this knife, but weapons like it." Another truth that concealed a lie.

"How did you make a demon-killing knife-"

"Without offing myself? Wasn't easy. Worth it though."

Sam's brow furrowed in what she'd dubbed Thoughtful Frown #3: Intrigued but lamentably emo. There was a question in his eyes, one he no doubt thought he was hiding. Ruby read it clear as day.

"Sam, you don't need weapons. You _are_ a weapon."

 

Ruby was her working name. Not her Christian name, that had been Beatrice. Bice, to family, friends, and lovers. Ruby was her power; Bice her weakness.

Ruby was clever; far cleverer than either of her husbands had been. She wanted, she was hungry, and she was clever enough to get _everything_. She sold her soul gladly, in exchange for power that other witches couldn't even imagine, and long life, while everyone else was dropping dead around her like flies. There was a queen of witches, and she was no goddess. She was a demon, and demons lied. That much she knew at the start - Ruby would find a way out.

Demons couldn't be killed, only exorcised, and sent back to hell. So said all the world's lore. Ruby would know, if anyone. And yet demons lied, and humans did too.

She tracked a whisper to an old, but well-kept abbey. It was isolated, deep in the forest, at the end of a long, hard road. The journey was made easier with borrowed wings.

Ysa soared over the abbey, giving Ruby a long look at its layout.

"Good girl," Ruby said. "Come down."

Ysa shed altitude in a long, slow glide, taking in the surrounding country. Finally she dropped silently to a tree branch, and settled in to wait. The owl preened, all around the small amulet that hung close to her neck. Ruby made a note to help her with her neck feathers, after this errand. It wouldn't do for Ysa's feathers to get mussed - her silent, airborne eyes were her chief value.

That and the amulet she carried for her mistress. Ruby concentrated her energies on the matching amulet around her own neck. She murmured the incantation. Blinked away the flash of burning, red light. Was there.

Ysa spread her wings, and made to drop off the branch to her favourite perch on Ruby's forearm.

Ruby waved her still. "Keep watch."

Ysa hooted softly in agreement.

Ruby passed through the three iron doors that protected the abbey, without trouble. Novices were so susceptible to suggestion. Once inside, she found his cell easily. She could practically smell him. It was a plain room, without adornment. She found him kneeling, in prayer.

"I must say, I expected an anchorite."

The monk came to his feet and spun to face her, in one smooth movement. His eyes flicked over her in a quick assessment. Not old yet. "Who are you?"

"Don't you want to know how I got in here?" His lips parted to answer her. She raised a hand, in a mockery of a blessing. "No, don't speak just yet." His struggle to talk, and then to move, was short. He was a smart man; knew when he'd met something he couldn't beat.

"Now, I have something of a conundrum," Ruby said evenly. She stalked the cell, circling his frozen form. "I've heard tell that you have the physic I need."

With a whisper, she gave him his voice back. He coughed, then choked out two words she couldn't understand. Ruby sighed - she might have gone too hard on him. The monk coughed, and spoke finally. "You've made a deal."

"Clever. I heard that you were." He tracked her progress around the tiny room, around him, where he stood, still frozen. A habit from his former life, she thought. "Tell me, what are you doing _here_?"

"I am here to contemplate-"

She cut him off. "With all these precious lambs."

He stared at her, as though he could look through her. He couldn't. "You have little time left."

"Then you should be quick in furnishing me with an answer."

"There is a way," he said in measured tones.

"Yes?"

He squared his shoulders; swallowed. Still watching her. He knew what she was. "Grace."

"What?" she hissed.

"The grace of God Almighty-"

"That's your answer? The grace of God?" She laughed. "Will you _pray_ for me, monk?"

"I will," he said, with confidence. With _faith_.

"I should kill you for my trouble."

"You should pray." She moved to strike him, but was stopped by his next words. "Ruby. You should pray, but I will pray for you."

She stepped close to him. Close enough to see the fear that should have clouded his eyes, but didn't. His too clear, too confident eyes. She gave him back his body - he didn't fall, like most would.

"Seer." He nodded. And that was hilarious. "Save your prayers, monk. You'll need them for yourself. You may not have made a deal but there's nothing natural about your sight."

His jaw tightened at that. An old wound, of a kind. "It is a charism."

"You think God gave you your vision?" She laughed again, a laugh that sounded more like a howl. "That's why you're here, among the stupidly faithful? So you can share your _charism_, and not risk being hung for it."

"I will pray for you," he said again.

"A lovely offer, but one I must refuse." She stared into his certain gaze, considering all the ways she might kill him.

"You won't kill me today, Ruby."

"Perhaps not. But..." She smiled. There was nothing nice in it. "Perhaps I will tell the other hunters where you are." She turned to the door of his cell, not waiting for his for reaction. She paused at the threshold. "Go back to your prayers, monk."

She paused again, by the abbey's well. Ruby pulled a small bag from the satchel she carried with her everywhere, and dropped it into the water.

 

Ruby didn't go gentle, but eventually, she went into that long, bad night. Took out two of Herodiade's best, before they took _her_. That was how Ruby made a name for herself, before stepping into the pit. It was why they kept her on the rack a little longer, well past her breaking point. Past begging for the pain to stop. Past cursing them. Past begging to do anything, hurt others, corrupt others, just so it would stop.

Ruby always was a little different.

Herodiade was the queen of witches. On the earth, she was an unconquerable power. In the pit there were other powers, princes and princesses of the unending deep, beside whose vast bodies and unfathomably long lives, Herodiade was only a speck. Demons who had never been human.

It was one of those who pulled her off the rack.

"My little girl," he said. His voice sheared strips of skin from her body, leaving bare muscle behind. "You are mine, aren't you?"

"Yes," she sobbed, with the ruins of her tongue. It was hardly a word, but he understood - they always did. "I'm yours."

"I can see that." He pushed what was left of her hair back from her forehead, then lifted her chin. His touch burned. Burned straight to her nerves; to her bones. Burned through flesh that had been seared clean and remade a thousand-thousand times.

She screamed silently, her throat too shot to manage more than a choked gurgle, and then nothing after. He smiled down at her, all the while, and kept touching her. Kept burning through her, until she could no longer feel, for the first time since they'd dragged her into hell. And then, when she was dead to it, he remade her, piece by piece: no marrow or bones; no muscle, tendon or nerves; no skin left to peel, or cut, or burn.

When he was done, he said, "My little girl. Look at you." She smiled at his black, black form; his bright, yellow eyes.

 

"Hold him Sam," she said.

"I can't."

"You can," she snapped. Ruby stepped up beside him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. It was awkward. Sam was so tall and this meat suit, cute though it was, was also very, very short. Sam flinched away from her hand. A tiny flinch, but unmissable. Then settled into it. Good. "Hold him."

She looked away from Sam, who was, as usual, frowning with the effort of exorcism, to the demon he had pressed against the opposite wall. The feet of its meat suit scrabbled for ground, where it hung, and the eyes darted nervously from Sam to Ruby; Ruby to Sam.

Sam's almost there - but not today, she thought. Not without a boost. He slowly closed his fingers, as though crushing the demon's essence - or its head between his fingers - and for a moment, she thought he was going to surprise her.

Then he faltered. The demon shook free from its hold.

"You'll burn for this, bitch," it said, smiling.

"Don't. Call me. Bitch," she said, then pulled her knife from the sheath on Sam's leg, and threw it.

"You'll never stop-" The knife landed in the meat suit's throat. Perfect shot, and perfect timing.

"Let me guess," she said to the now empty meat suit. "Burning?" She rolled her eyes. "No imagination."

"Ruby," Sam said tightly. Not angry, she thought. Or not entirely angry with her. No, Sam was choking on his grief and his guilt.

"Sam, I'm sorry." She stepped up to him, and laid her palm over his heart. "I had to."

"I know. Because I couldn't. Because I screwed up. Again." He shook off her hand and stalked away, to stare down at the body that had once been a _person_.

"Sam, don't tear yourself up over this. You're almost there."

"Yeah, almost. But how much longer Ruby? How long until I can..." he left the thought unfinished, but Ruby knew where it was going. Until he could use those wicked demon powers for something _good_. Until he was strong. Strong enough to kill Lilith.

Sam scrubbed his hands over his face. She pulled them down, and away. Smiled up at him. "Sammy," she murmured.

"We need to get out of here."

"Yeah, we do." She let him take her wrist and pull her out of the warehouse, to the waiting car. His fingers brushed the soft skin of her meat suit's palm; the inside of her wrist. They were almost holding hands. She laughed, inwardly, at the thought.

He kept his silence through the drive. Ruby flipped on the radio, and tuned it to a pop station. Sam gave another tiny flinch, but didn't say anything until he'd closed the door of the motel room behind him.

It was one of those terrible motels that functioned as the Winchester's version of the Holiday Inn: ubiquitous and hideous. There were plastic stars, hanging from the ceiling. They were the faded green-white of glow-in-the-dark plastic that's seen better days. The single, king-sized bed was done up in dusty, midnight blue and silver. More stars. Sam's laptop (password locked) and open duffel (clothes only), sat on the Formica-covered table, where he'd left them, undisturbed.

She walked in ahead of him, and sat on the bed. He closed the door and then leaned back against it, like he needed its support.

"Ruby."

"Sam?" She gave him nothing. He'd have to ask all those burning questions he had.

He huffed out a sigh, and pushed off the door. Walked to the bed, to stand in front of her, exactly where she wanted him. "What do I have to do?"

"I told you Sam-"

"It's not working. I need- I need to be stronger."

She sighed. "There is one thing."

"What is it?" he asked, leaning down, and grabbing her shoulders, in his eagerness.

"My blood."

"What? No." He let go of her instantly, and took half a step backwards. His face contorted with- too much; too many emotions to identify them all. Not just disgust, she notes. There's more going on in that clever brain of his than just visceral disgust.

"Sam."

"No, I'm not drinking your blood. I can't do that."

"Ok," she said soothingly. "Ok. I knew you wouldn't like it."

"Yeah, you think?" He laughed bitterly.

"That's why I didn't tell you before." She reached out, and ran a hand down the skin of his arm, then back up. "You can do this Sam. You _are_ strong enough."

He frowned. It wasn't a no. It wasn't a denial of any kind. It was an in.

 

The thing of it was, Ruby liked Sam. As much as she could _like_ a human. He was one of Azazel's special kids, which was a point in his favour. _The_ kid, really. Which was another point, if she was counting. Sam was a human, but he was also _more_ than human; or less, depending on your perspective.

Then there was Sam himself. He was plucky. Determined, resourceful, and very, very full of wrath. Convinced of his righteousness, he pursued demons relentlessly, barely taking time to care for himself. It was kind of sweet.

Still, Ruby was all too aware of how fragile humans were, and if Humpty Dumpty fell over, she'd have trouble putting all his pieces back together again. Not without riding him. But using him for meat wasn't going get them any closer to the endgame. She'd do it if she had to, but it wasn't ideal and was far from her first choice. The tattoo was no kind of barrier to _her_.

She liked Sam. He had all kinds of potential. It was a shame.

When Ruby was human, she'd been baptized, and had been nominally Catholic, even after turning to witchcraft for answers that her brainless friar couldn't provide. She'd believed, inasmuch as everyone believed when there was death everywhere; famine, war and a fucking _recession_ on top of everything else. In those conditions, belief was a band-aid, no one wanted ripped off.

Then there was the cult. Herodiade had a whole religion, all to herself. Queen of witches: queen of whores, and fools. Ruby never was much of a joiner. She took what she needed, and left when she'd outgrown them, and just grown tired of all their rituals; their praising, pleading and hand-holding.

She didn't find _religion_ until she was in deep in the pit, new-made, and cradled in her father's arms. She found belief in his whisper, as he fed her the names and visages of all the princes and princesses of hell, and all their weaknesses. The names of lesser demons, young ones, and old, stupid creatures who'd never amounted to anything, in the hierarchy of the deep.

He sent her on errands that took her from the gates of hell, to the racks, and finally, within sight of The Cage, in the deepest circle, around which all of hell was built. She fought, she meted out punishment and pain, and she learned. All surreptitiously, because above all, demons were petty and fractious, and Ruby was his secret ace in the hole. Ruby wasn't the oldest, or the strongest demon in the pit, but she was resourceful. She turned all her cleverness, all her skill and ruthlessness to her aims.

Azazel called her his girl; there was pride in his voice and belief in his yellow eyes.

"Every lock has its key."

Ruby had a mission. It was a shame that Sam wouldn't survive it.

 

Ruby lay naked on a motel bed, her toes brushing the hideous comforter - was that _puce_? - her legs spread wide. Sam lay between them, his hands holding her thighs open and up, sucking eagerly at the deep slash he'd cut into the meat of her leg. Right over an artery. Kill shot, if the meat she wore were _hers_.

"Kinky," she'd said. Laid down and smiled an invitation to follow. Not that Sam needed it. He didn't need to be coaxed along anymore. He knew what he wanted, and he _took_ it. A frustrating hunt with his brother, and then an easier one with Ruby was all it had taken to get him riled up this time. She wasn't going to complain.

She hummed with pleasure, and somewhere along the way, it turned into his name. "Sammy."

He pulled away from her, to shoot her a glare. The blood smeared across his mouth and cheeks killed the effect. "Don't call me that." Harder to take, now that Dean was back, she guessed.

"Sorry," she breathed. "Sam. _Sam_." Then he was on her again.

Dean was back. The older, dumber brother was back from hell. Pulled out by an _angel_. As horrifying as that thought was, she figured it was a good sign as well as a bad one. Angels walked the earth, and ripped Winchesters out of the pit. Which meant they were worried. Ruby was a believer, and she couldn't help but notice that all the signs and omens pointed to the end times being just around the corner. Things hadn't gone exactly as she'd hoped, but that was war for you - no plan survived the first contact with the enemy.

One night Ruby had opened the door expecting pizza, and got Dean Winchester and his replacement Daddy instead. Ruby had almost seven hundred years of experience of rolling with the punches, so she did just that; by the time she'd talked her way out of Sam's motel room, she knew what she was going to do. She knew exactly how she was going to play it.

Poor not-so-doomed Dean, she thought. Back from the pit and so _broken_. Just in time for the end of the world.

"Ruby."

"Mmmhmm?"

"Can I-"

"Anything, Sam."

It was a shame, she thought again. She hadn't expected to like her Lord's vessel so much.


End file.
